Greetings! Welcome to the latest edition of The New Absurdist‘s ‘Siskel and Deadebert’ story reviews. As you may or may not know, Deadebert has been, well...dead for some time now. He can no longer give the thumbs up so we’ll have to do rotting appendages. I myself, Gene Siskel, am NOT dead, but I have infected my limbs with gangrene, so that I may also give a rotting appendage up or down. This week’s story is going to be 'pink milk' by benjamin coulter.
Siskel: The first couple sentences have no distinct point of view but the following paragraph snaps us into the 3rd person. Deadebert: Indeed. Sounds like the beginning of a day for any of millions of people around the globe. Siskel: Until the alarm clock explodes. Haven’t had that happen yet, although it would be nice. Deadebert: The 3rd paragraph introduces the fact that this character isn‘t as normal as he originally seemed to be. He isn’t quite like you or me. Well certainly not like me. After all, I’m dead! Siskel: Damn straight you are. These infected sores on my legs will have me joining you soon as well, friend. But at this point in the story, the character is struggling with his surroundings; it all seems very foreign to him. And Deadebert, aren’t you supposed to leave the maggots in the sores -- don’t they keep it clean? Deadebert: Right. But in your case you need a rotten appendage so I’d scrape ‘em out. Anyways, our character eventually makes it downstairs to have a little breakfast. I like a big breakfast myself: eggs, bacon, toast,... Siskel: We’re aware of your love for food, obese slob. No wonder you’re dead. Your heart could barely take the stress.
Deadebert: …when he makes a bit of a mess there, he mentions 'someone will clean it up’. What’s that all about? Siskel: Maybe he expects his mom -- or one of his parents -- to clean it up. We get deeper into the parental issues in a bit. Quite abruptly, he then 'spices up' those Cheerios with a bit of his own blood. What do you think about that, Deadebert? Deadebert: …pancakes, jelly, marmalade; I like marmalade... Siskel: Hey fat fuck! I know you're dead, but can we finish this review please? Deadebert: Right! Sorry about that! Siskel: Mr. coulter then does something quite odd, almost as odd as the lack of capitals in his name, the stories title or any of the text itself: he focuses on the color of the milk (the stories title): pink. He does a little bit of nonsense baby talk there. Deadebert: I’m not sure what to make of that. Siskel: Me neither.
Deadebert: But in the end he's still a bit unsatisfied with his cereal and obviously his existence as he then takes a moment to commit suicide. Siskel: The final ironic twist points to his parent’s: they wouldn't mind finding their son dead with his face in a bowl of milk, but he left the milk out! How dare he! Deadebert: I give it one rotten appendage upfor the anti-climactic ending. I really like that. Siskel: I’m going to give it one rotten appendage downfor the 'prittay pinkaroo' nonsense sentence. Deadebert: You're appendage is looking a bit more rotten this week Siskel. Not bad considering you’re still alive. Siskel: Why thank you. I’ve been working on it.